The Illustrious Client
by LittlePippin76
Summary: An adaptation of the ACD story of the same name. Sherlock is approached by a gentleman hoping to put a halt to the marriage between the young, beautiful and potentially wealthy Violet De Merville and her unpleasant fiancé. Rated M for dark themes, but there is nothing graphic here. Notes on Chapter 1.
1. Chapter 1

**The ACD story 'The Illustrious Client' was mentioned by the Baker Street Babes in one of their recent podcasts, and it occurred to me I hadn't read it in a 20 years or so. I'm pleased I had another look, as it is a darkly brilliant story. I thought I'd have a go at updating it myself, though I'd love to see parts of it used in Series 4.**

**It's worth knowing at the start that this story will cover some hard issues. As such, I'm following the site guidelines and publishing as an M, but there is no graphic description. If you're looking for fluff, this story isn't for you.**

**Final note, I went through a strange mental time a couple of months ago. I'm pleased that I'm writing again, but I'm still all over the place mentally. One of the problems I'm experiencing is that I'm going into a panic every time I get an email. For that reason I've got my alerts switched off at the moment. I intend to come and respond to reviews as and when I feel mentally stable enough to do so. I am fine; there's no need for any panic. I'm just apologising in advance for not responding to reviews promptly. Sorry.**

**Thanks so much. I hope that some of you enjoy this.**

**Pip xxx**

* * *

><p>John wandered around the empty schoolhouse. It was interesting, he thought, that it seemed so big and old fashioned. And empty. A tiny voice at the back of his mind questioned whether he really should be there, but he was certain that there was something he needed to find before he could leave. He went through a set of large double doors and found himself in an enormous library. There were ladders everywhere. Ladders leading to tiny, shelf-like balconies from which there were more ladders. Up and up he went, desperately trying to remember what on earth he was looking for. He was about half way up a fifty-foot wall of shelving when the fire alarm went off. Blasted thing, beeping and beeping, and him having no idea how to get down through the maze of ladders and balconies.<p>

Just as he spotted the actual, bone-fide, exciting looking fire pole, a hard finger jabbed him in the ribs. He opened his eyes to the dark of his room.

'I hate you,' Mary muttered.

'God, sorry.'

'Turn the bloody thing off.'

He was already scrambling for his phone to turn off the alarm. 5:30.

'I really, really hate you,' Mary said.

'Yeah,' he replied. 'Right now I hate me too.'

'Mm. Give my love to Sherlock. Now sod off before she wakes up.'

He started to slide away.

'John,' Mary murmured.

'Mm?'

'Kiss.'

He smiled and kissed her gently. She smiled briefly, then rolled to rub her face into the pillow before turning away and softly snoring again.

John crept out of the bed and grabbed the neatly folded pile of clothes from the chair in his bedroom and stole out of the room. He did linger in the hallway just to check that his alarm hadn't woken Scarlet, but she was snoring gently too. He didn't turn the light on as he silently went down the stairs. He stayed in complete darkness until he got into the kitchen where he could risk the light. He dressed quietly, looked longingly at the kettle, but just picked his backpack up from the counter and left the flat.

oOo

'I hate you,' Sherlock growled, appearing behind him.

'Yeah,' John said through a yawn. 'There's a lot of it going around.'

'This is the most ridiculous thing in the world.'

'I know that you think so.'

The shutters of the ticket kiosk rattled noisily up, and John paid for two swim sessions.

'Even if there was any redeeming point about _any_ of this,' Sherlock snarled, 'it would be completely invalidated by having to do it at six o'clock in the bloody morning.'

'We swim now because it's quiet and because I can fit it in before work.'

'Oh, don't get me started on the futility of your pointless job!'

Sherlock did, however, get started on the futility of John's job as he followed him down the stairs to the changing room.

'I'll note,' John said, when Sherlock had paused for breath, 'that you don't think this is so pointless that you don't bother to turn up.'

Sherlock looked slightly affronted, but deflected the comment with a pained sniff.

'It's the only time I get to see you now.'

John actually laughed. 'No it's not!'

'Fine, it's the only time I'm _guaranteed _to see you. Now you have your _job_ and your _wife_…'

To his credit, Sherlock did not add Scarlet to the list of unnecessary distractions in John's life. It did appear that his brain had quite a job of stepping in before that one fell out of his mouth, but it did, at least, remain unspoken.

'But the fact remains,' Sherlock went on, 'that this is pointless and frankly bordering on cruel.'

'I know. You've told me before.'

'You're a cruel, nasty tyrant.'

'Yeah,' John said, stepping into a changing cubicle and turning to look at Sherlock. 'Hey, do you remember that really funny time when you didn't move at all for two weeks and got so depressed you nearly died?'

John saw Sherlock's jaw clench as he closed the door. For half a second he wondered if he'd pushed it just slightly too far, but then the door of the next cubicle slammed so hard that the walls shook and he breathed out again.

Sherlock didn't utter another sound until he'd locked his possessions into a locker, when he gave the key to John with a 'here'. John took it without question. He had not exaggerated in regards to Sherlock's state during that hideous few weeks, and he'd worked too hard to keep him as steady as possible since without rocking the boat by insisting that he wore his own bloody locker key. He just strapped it on his free wrist and went to shower quickly. He walked out to the poolside, spent a second admiring the glassy surface of the empty, undisturbed pool, and then he dived into one of the swimming lanes and felt the joy of the vibrant water bubbling around his limbs and through his fingers.

He'd surfaced and managed two strokes before there was a crashing disturbance behind him that told him that Sherlock had cannonballed into the water. Occasionally Sherlock would be briefly admonished by a sharp whistle from a lifeguard, but more often than not, at this time in the morning, he was ignored. He always cheered up almost instantly on entering the water, and this, John knew, was what kept him coming week after week, even if Sherlock would never admit it. He smiled and continued on his swim.

The first few times he'd been swimming with Sherlock he'd been slightly surprised by the detective's behaviour. He had vaguely assumed that Sherlock would fall in line and match him stroke for stroke. In fact Sherlock stayed out of the lanes and enjoyed himself just splashing around in the general swim area. On the first trip, John had stopped, mid length to check that he wasn't about to drown or something ridiculous like that. After a couple of utterly baffling moments, he came to the conclusion that Sherlock could clearly not-drown, and so he left him to his own devices, however bizarre those devices happened to be.

After a few lengths he had left the lanes to go and gently suggest that he taught him how to swim properly.

'I know how to swim!' Sherlock had replied, utterly affronted. 'I'm experimenting!'

John had gone back to what he was doing. Over the next few weeks, he observed Sherlock 'experimenting' by mimicking the gaits of different animals under the water to see which was more efficient (though John could have told him for free that swimming with one of the human strokes is probably best for humans). He also spent some time seeing how slowly he would have to swim to prevent the water rippling, and repeated this experiment with his chin and then his nose under the water. He spent a session timing how long he could hold his breath under water, and this led to another session of allowing himself to sink by letting out one tiny air-bubble from his lungs at a time.

All obviously crucial experiments.

Also the sorts of experiments that most people got out of the way when they were pre-teens, so John reworded it all in his head to 'Sherlock is playing' and he left him to it. As long as he was happy and had been forced to move from the sofa, he really didn't care too much. He quietly completed his first thirty laps.

On this occasion, as sometimes happened when the pool was particularly quiet, Sherlock suddenly appeared in the adjacent swimming lane when John neared the end of lap thirty.

'Race you,' he said, and kicked off before John had had chance to turn around.

This was a fairly typical Sherlock trick; wait for John to expend his energy and then challenge him.

He grinned and struck out. Sherlock could certainly swim after a fashion, but his stroke was fairly untidy and John passed him easily half way up the lane and finished a body length in front of him. He stood and waited for Sherlock to join him.

'I meant both ways,' Sherlock said, turning in the water and starting back again. Another typical Sherlock trick.

John passed him again, and then amused himself by very, nearly almost letting Sherlock win for the next six lengths. Things were beginning to get vaguely busy, and they wouldn't be able to hog two lanes for much longer.

He glanced at the clock.

'We'd better think about getting out.'

Sherlock shook his head.

'Two more laps,' he panted.

'OK.'

Sherlock was already gone. John shook his head, wondering if Sherlock was actually counting, and whether he knew that John knew that he was getting his forty laps by stealth means if necessary. He stayed alongside him now, and decided that actually the well exercised Sherlock was actually putting all his energy, mental and physical, into not drowning. He let him win by an arm.

'Got you,' Sherlock said.

'Yep'. He pulled himself up and out of the water and walked back to the changing room without turning around to give Sherlock the dignity of creeping to the steps to get out that way. He handed him his locker key in the shower, and allowed Sherlock to preen a little. By the time they were fully dressed, and in Sherlock's case, slightly more preened still, they were both deeply relaxed and ravenous, so John steered them across to their usual Thursday morning breakfast café where they both ordered mountains of food and epic amounts of tea.

John ate and watched the pleasing sight of a vaguely human Sherlock, all his muscles stretched and soothed, and happy to eat and possibly even to be alive. After he'd taken the edge off his hunger he looked lazily up at John.

'What progress with Scarlet?'

John grinned. 'Probably not as much as you'd like.'

Sherlock gave him a stern look. 'Is she walking unaided yet?'

'Nope. She still appears to be under the impression that the universe will fall away if she lets go of the furniture.'

'You coddle her too much.'

'Do I?'

'You should lend her to me for an afternoon. I'd get her walking.'

'Yeah, because you don't coddle her at all. Not ever.'

Sherlock smiled, but didn't dispute this.

'What about you?' John asked. 'Anything interesting about?'

Sherlock loaded up another mouthful and dug in his pocket for his phone while he chewed. He scrolled through to the right email.

'Could be something. Could be nothing,' he said, handing it to John.

John scanned the email from Mr James Damery.

'The problem my friend has is extremely delicate,' he read.

'I knew you'd pick out that line. I did too.'

'He wants to come to _you_ with a delicate problem.'

'Oh, I see. No, the delicacy wasn't my concern. It was the fact that he's come to me via an intermediary. I dislike cases that start that way.'

John checked the phone. 'You agreed to see him though. Why can't you do 6:30? Have you got something else on?' He surreptitiously checked the rest of Sherlock's email.

'Me? No. I assumed you wouldn't want to miss out on both ends of Scarlet's day, so I moved the appointment forward by an hour. If it's that important, he can make time for it.'

John looked up at him. 'You want me there?'

'Of course I want you there, for two very specific reasons. Reason one, it's a case of a delicate nature. I'm not best suited to those.'

'And you think I am?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'More so than me.'

'OK. And what's the other reason?'

'It's a case.'

John grinned and handed the phone back.

'So will you come?' Sherlock pressed him.

John checked his watch. 'Yep, OK. I'd better get a move on now. You OK to get home?' he regretted the question as soon as it was out of his mouth, but Sherlock, now relaxed and settled didn't seem to mind at all.

'I am,' he replied. I'll see you at 5:30.' He went back to his breakfast.


	2. Chapter 2

At 5:15 John walked up to the door at Baker Street. He was quite conscious that he'd have to start work early tomorrow to spend some of the morning completing the paperwork that he'd put aside, and felt slightly guilty that he'd slightly rushed his penultimate patient. On the other hand, the ultimate patient, who had needed a fair amount of focus had been given the whole of John's attention. He was quite used to that feeling, when leaving work, of patients continuing exist in his mind even though he'd always done as much as it were possible to do for all of them. Today he'd worked on pushing that last one to the corners of his mind for the whole tube journey, but she lingered there nonetheless.

He let himself in, but was unsurprised when Mrs Hudson came to meet him in the hall, and was equally unsurprised that she was carrying yet another small jumper for Scarlet. This one was in a deep, dark purple.

'It's lovely,' he said, assuming that it was. 'Thank you!'

'It's my pleasure,' she returned. 'When will you be bringing her to visit me again?'

'Erm, when time permits. I'll try to get them over this weekend, but it depends on how long this new case will take.'

'Have you got someone now?'

'In about ten minutes.'

'I'll bring you tea.'

He trotted up to the living room upstairs where Sherlock, at his computer, waved him towards his armchair.

'I've been doing a little research on our intermediary,' he said, by way of welcome. 'Mr Damery works in the civil service, quite senior, attached to Lord Smythson's office as their senior. At a guess the delicate matter will be something to do with Lord Smythson.'

'But Mycroft isn't interested in it?'

'He hasn't been in touch at any rate. Bah, politicians and delicate matters. It's just dull, dull, dull. Oh well. I'm sorry I didn't have anything better for you.'

John found he was perfectly happy to sit in this armchair in this room anyway.

'Let's hear him at any rate,' he said.

'Fair enough. Did you ask Mrs Hudson to bring us tea?'

'No, but she offered anyway.'

'Good.' Sherlock closed his computer and pushed himself up from his chair. He put his suit jacket on and spent some time straightening his clothes and hair in front of the mirror.

John watched him, amused, but he didn't comment.

Tea arrived, courtesy of Mrs Hudson, and John poured out their cups while Sherlock arranged the chairs into their neat little triangle. Sherlock dropped into his chair just as the clock switched over to 5:30.

'He's late,' he said instantly.

'He's not late yet. Besides, you forced him out early. He might be struggling with the traffic and such like.

Sherlock rhythmically patted the arms of his chair.

'He's now late,' he said, when the clock switched to 5:31.

John grinned and drank some tea.

By 5:35 Sherlock was slowly building himself up into a right old temper. The premonition that this poor man was going to turn up with a delicate matter and would be torn to shreds by a bored, impatient Sherlock fluttered across John's mind.

Finally the doorbell rang and Sherlock gave John a meaningful look.

He sighed as he pulled himself up. 'I'd like to point out that it's not my doorbell anymore,' he commented.

Sherlock just shrugged at him.

The man John met at the door was a middle aged, well-suited gentleman with the soft skin and fine lines of someone who had spent the whole of his working life in various well-maintained offices. He had a tense frown on his forehead now, but otherwise gave the impression of having little to worry about that he wasn't able to deal with by himself. He shook John's hand while giving him a slightly concerned look, and happily went upstairs. John followed him up.

In the living room, Mr Damery was busy shaking hands with Sherlock. He gave John another glance as he came in and shut the door.

'I apologise, Mr Holmes,' he said smoothly. 'I should have made it clear from the onset that I simply cannot have outside parties privy to this case.'

Sherlock glanced at John. 'Well then, it would appear the case is over before it begins.'

'You understand, Mr Holmes, my concern isn't specifically with the doctor himself, but rather with the nature of his blog.'

'You get us both or neither.' He shrugged. 'That's how it works. In addition, I will bring into the case any such persons as I believe will be of use to me.' He sat down. 'Stay, leave, outline the case, don't outline the case. When the case is laid before me, I will choose whether to take it up or not. That's how it works, Mr Damery.'

He glared at him. John quietly sat down in his own chair, taking care not to disturb the battle of wills that was clearly going on. When Mr Damery sat, he perched on the edge of the seat, and Sherlock watched him through heavily lidded eyes.

'Can I pour you a cup of tea?' John asked politely.

'No, thank you,' Mr Damery replied. The question seemed to have broken whatever tension was left though, and he reduced slightly and looked at Sherlock. 'Mr Holmes, I have been asked to come to you by a friend of mine. He in turn has an acquaintance who is currently the source of some concern.'

'Your friend's name?' Sherlock asked.

'I'm not convinced that it's important that you know,' Mr Stanbury returned. Sherlock bristled obviously. 'Please understand, I'm not intending to be difficult. Perhaps if I may outline my story to you, and if you still insist on the name I will give it, if you can guarantee that it stays away from any source of media.'

'You know, you could just say 'please don't blog about it', and I won't blog about it,' John said. 'I'm a doctor; I'm well accustomed to working confidentially.'

Mr Damery startled, but then he considered and nodded.

'I apologise for my manner,' he said. 'It's all just…' all remaining stiffness died away. 'It's a mess, to be honest. It's an absolute mess.'

'Tell us what you need,' John said gently.

'I'm not even sure I know what we need.' He sighed and stared at the coffee table before he started again. 'My friend's young acquaintance is a nineteen year old girl. He's her godfather. He's known her all her life, and from all reports, she's been an absolute delight until about nine months ago. Last September she went to spend a season in Gstaad to work as a ski instructor there. She seemed happy and well, and she stayed at my friend's chalet. My friend visited her a few weeks before she was due to return, and he was slightly alarmed to find that she'd fallen hopelessly in love. It wasn't ideal, given that she is due to start Oxford this September, but he reserved his judgement. He discovered that the man concerned was a good deal older than her, which concerned him further still, but again, he reserved judgement. When she returned home last month, she arrived with the news of her engagement to the man.' He stopped and shrugged.

John stole a glance at Sherlock who was looking utterly blank about all of this.

'Needless to say that her father, my friend's oldest friend, was not delighted by the news. He's now met the man on a number of occasions, and he's now even less delighted. The man is… well, for want of a better expression, the man is clearly a cad. He's a nasty piece of work by all accounts…'

'Have you met him?' John asked.

'No, I have not. My friend has.'

'Your friend, the girl's father?'

'No, her Godfather, as I said. I assure you I will not fabricate in my story. We're too short of hope for that now. As I was saying, the man is, to be frank, horrible. The girl is besotted. He holds her in such a thrall that I'd be prepared to suggest that he had hypnotised her if I didn't think that were far too fanciful. He is vile to virtually everyone he meets, but is vile with a winning smile, and she cannot even hear of the things he's said or done. She's determined that he is the best person ever and is deaf to everything else. She has older sisters, one of whom was…' he coloured slightly, 'groped by him. They have both suggested, gently then firmly, that the engagement should last until she finishes Oxford. She wants to start there as a married woman. She is no longer talking to either sister. Her father is so concerned that she'll elope that it's made him quite ill. He has begged that she at least waits until this Christmas so that they can have a proper celebration, and she's agreed to this at least. We had hoped that she'd meet other people and perhaps her adoration would wane. Unfortunately, she's made no move to sort accommodation or registration out at the University, and our fear is that she'll drop the plan entirely until she's wed, and will perhaps never attend at all. The change in her is extraordinary. She's always been such a good, happy, considerate child, and I think the only saving grace is that she's so used to obeying her father that she's agreed to wait just three months. But time is slipping away, and the more we try to persuade her out of this, the more she's digging her heels in.'

'I don't understand what you expect me to do about it,' Sherlock said bluntly.

Mr Damery smiled. 'No, I'm not sure we do either. But we're running out of hope. We've done a little research about the background of this man, in the hope that we'll find something, anything, that will persuade her against the idea. But we're all of us clueless. There was a kerfuffle of sorts in Austria, his home country, but it seems to have blown away to nothing. Other than that, we don't know what should be done.'

'What's the chap's name?' John asked.

'Mr Adelbert Gruner.'

Sherlock sat up so quickly he made the others jump. His face was alive now, and his eyes gleaming.

'Mr Adelbert Gruner? Murderer of Mrs Renate Gruner?'

'You have him pegged as a murderer then,' Mr Damery said sadly. 'It's what I feared, and is far worse than I had hoped.' He sighed and sat back in his chair.

'Mr Gruner was acquitted,' Sherlock told John, 'but there were aspects of that case that were very intriguing. I don't know how he got it all by judge and jury.' He gave Mr Damery a slow, quiet smile. 'So you've bought Adelbert Gruner to my door, have you? Wonderful.'

'Then you'll take the case?' Mr Damery said, sitting up.

'Of course I'll take the case,' Sherlock said, standing up and looking energised. 'You're absolutely right; the girl's name and her father and so forth are all completely irrelevant, but do give them to John anyway. It'll be easier to just have them than to try to find them. I might want to speak to the girl.'

'Really?' John said, before he could stop it.

'Really. Maybe. I don't know. Like I say, she's neither here nor there, but Adelbert Gruner…' he looked delighted again and paced into the kitchen.

John looked at Mr Damery. 'Well,' he said, clearing his throat, 'the case has been accepted. If you could let me have the details that Mr Holmes requested, that'd be great.' He went to the table to find a notebook. 'Also we'll need to discuss fees and expenses.'

'Of course,' Mr Damery said, all business like again. 'All expenses will of course be reimbursed after examination by my office and agreed as reasonable.'

'Understood.'

'On top of that, I assume there will be a fee? What are his rates?'

'His rates are negotiable.'

'My friend has informed me that he would gladly pay thirty thousand pounds for a happy conclusion.'

'Let's consider those negotiated then,' John said, forcing his face to blankness. 'There will be no bill for an unhappy conclusion. It will be expenses only.'

'Good then. The bill should be sent to me, and here is my card. The name of the young lady is Violet de Merville. She lives in Holland Park.'

'Judge Merville's daughter?' Sherlock called from the kitchen.

'Indeed,' Mr Damery said.

Sherlock went back to his pacing without a further word.

'Marvellous,' John said. 'We'll be in touch.'

He saw a happier, more relaxed Mr Damery to the door and returned to Sherlock.

'Thirty thousand pounds!' Sherlock said, clearly quite shocked about this.

'He offered,' John said.

'But I'd have taken on Adelbert Gruner for free!'

'Which is why it's better you stay out of the room for that bit of the procedure. Don't worry; I wouldn't have lost you the case. I'm pretty sure he would have gone for forty.'

'Then why didn't you go for forty?'

'Because you were about to wear a hole in the kitchen floor, and I wanted him out of the house.' He grinned at Sherlock. 'What next?'

'Next is boring research and so forth. Go and put Scarlet to bed, and I'll be in touch later. I might need you on line. I'll text if so.'

'OK then. Make sure you eat something, and I'll see you later.'


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock Holmes held the surgery door open and waved his guest inside. She lingered in the doorway, as if she was half of the belief that he was leading her to an execution, or worse, to a mental hospital. She took turns wringing her left then right wrists and only took small steps to follow him to the reception desk.

From the look of first horror then resignation on the receptionist's face he knew that she recognised him and this fact pleased him immensely.

'I'll go and tell him you're here,' she muttered, and she disappeared through a door at the back of her office, leaving him under the long, disapproving stare of the senior manager.

The junior returned and told him that Dr Watson would indeed see him if he could just wait until his lunch break.

Sherlock checked his watch and calculated that there was only one patient before then. He waved his young companion to a chair and sat next to her. She picked up a fashion magazine from six months before and flicked through it without really paying attention to either articles or pictures. Sherlock observed her with detached interest while he waited. He thought that her fingernails could be cleaner and would probably look better unchewed.

He watched John's last patient leave with the aid of a stick, and when he'd decided that John had had quite enough time to update his notes he leapt up.

'Come on!' he said to the girl, and he started towards the corridor to the surgery rooms.

'He might not be finished!' a voice from the reception called.

'He is! I checked!' Sherlock called back.

The girl was looking even more perturbed as he led her towards John's office door. He knocked briefly, just to give John the time to close his computer screen and then went in.

Despite this courtesy, John looked decidedly pissed off as Sherlock came in.

'I was going to spend lunchtime catching up with my paperwork!' he snapped.

He was looking squirrely with hunger, and Sherlock suddenly remembered that he'd kept John up until one that morning, chasing around Facebook and Twitter and Mumsnet looking for victims of Gruner who were ready to talk.

Fortunately his demeanour changed as the girl walked in behind Sherlock. Suddenly John was all concerned smiles, and he held a chair so that she could sit down.

Sherlock smiled slightly smugly. 'I brought you some lunch,' he said, giving John the sandwich and cereal bar he'd picked up as an afterthought on the way in. He dropped down into John's chair. 'This is a new acquaintance of mine…' he looked towards her. 'What was your name again?'

'Kitty Winter,' she muttered.

'I'm pleased to meet you,' John said.

'Sit down,' Sherlock said to him, gesturing to the extra chair by Kitty's, and making her jump. John didn't though. He leant against the narrow, patient examination bed at the back of the office. He didn't make a move to eat the hastily selected sandwich either.

Sherlock shrugged this off and pressed on. 'Kitty knows our friend Adelbert Gruner.'

John nodded. 'How long were you with him?' he asked quietly, depriving Sherlock of his big reveal.

'Two years,' she said. 'I'm not sure if you could say I was with him though. I mean, I knew him, we had…' she drifted off, leaving the confession unspoken. 'I wasn't alone though. I mean, I wasn't his only one. It's not like we was girlfriend and boyfriend or nothing.'

'How did you escape him?' John asked.

'She wasn't his captive,' Sherlock put in.

John ignored him. He continued watching Kitty. Eventually she answered.

'I dunno really. It was sort of an accident. I got a bit… well, sort of drunk I think. I dunno. I was unconscious and stuff this one time. Or I was coming in and out of it, and I remember him being pissed off that I was. I don't know. It was weird. He waited until I was awake again, and he said I should go home, but I collapsed on the way to the tube station and someone called an ambulance. I called him from the hospital but he didn't come. Turned out I was having a miscarriage. I didn't even know about the baby. I called him to tell him that too but he stopped answering my calls. I guess he just got bored of me.'

'Did he have sex with you when you were drunk?' John asked.

'Oh yeah. Me and the others. We was given drink and drugs and all sorts. Not all the time like. Only if we wasn't in the mood. He'd give us drink to get us in the mood.'

'Where have you been since?' John asked. 'Have you somewhere safe to stay now?'

'Yeah. There was a nurse at the hospital who got me in touch with Women's Aid. They was cool. They gave me a room in a house for a bit and I had some counselling. That was good too. I met someone there. We worked out that we could probably manage a flat if we both worked and we shared. She'd been married to a real dick, and she said that Bert sounded as bad.' A smile appeared on her face, and the whole of it brightened briefly. 'She's well cool. She's doing an Open University Degree and everything, and she's helping me get some GCSEs at night school.'

'Mm, but bringing the conversation back to Mr Gruner,' Sherlock said.

The young face clouded over again, but she looked stormy and bitter with her anger. She went quiet though.

'Kitty has brought to my attention the fact that our friend Adelbert has a little black book.' He smiled at John, and was slightly taken aback by the look on John's face. He was glaring at Sherlock as if he'd like to rip his throat out.

Fortunately Kitty spoke up.

'It wasn't a book,' she said. 'He had pictures. He showed me one time. He thought it was funny. He had pictures of me and girls like me, all on his computer. He kept them on a memory stick. Him doing disgusting things to kids like me.'

'Kids?' Sherlock said, looking up and reassessing Kitty's age.

'Yeah. He likes 'em young.' She shrugged. 'I suppose we weren't actual children though, so that's something. None under sixteen he said, like that should get him a bloody medal. Even if it wasn't for the hospital thing he'd probably have thought I was too old soon.' She looked thoughtful briefly. 'He did go for older ones sometimes. He'd been married once or twice I think and they were a bit older. I wasn't wife material though. Most of us weren't.'

'He likes his wives with money,' Sherlock explained to John.

John was looking slightly more settled, though still a touch murderous. Sherlock looked meaningfully at the untouched sandwich, but John didn't seem to catch that meaning.

'So your plan is to steal this memory stick?' John asked.

'You won't get it,' Kitty said. 'I saw it once, just because he was showing off. I was at his place a fair amount on my own or with other girls, but I never got in his study. He has a room off his living room that we weren't allowed in. I mean, he was precious enough about the living room which had all these vases in. Said we couldn't be trusted around the china and took us in his bedroom instead. He showed me the stick on his computer in the living room one time, just for a laugh, or showing me what might happen if I didn't behave. Then locked took it back into his little study.'

'From what I understand, it's fairly well locked away,' Sherlock said. 'Besides, I have an appointment this afternoon with Violet De Merville.'

This got John's attention slightly better, and he sat up a bit.

'Yes, the young lady has been pretty much instructed to see me,' Sherlock said, smugly.

'By her father?'

'By her fiancé.'

John's eyes widened, and Sherlock started to enjoy himself.

'Yes, apparently he is really quite eager that she should meet with me.'

'Why?'

'I would assume because he'd enjoy the fact of his sweetheart telling me where to get off.'

'Right.'

'What he doesn't know is that I have an extra weapon in my arsenal.' Sherlock beamed. John looked confused so he waved towards Kitty.

'No!' John said, standing up and shaking his head for good measure.

'But she wants to,' he said.

'It's a really bad idea.'

'But I want to,' Kitty put in.

'Look it's great that you want to help Violet,' John said firmly, 'and you've already helped massively, but it's a really, really bad idea.'

'But I want to,' Kitty said stubbornly. 'That man's a stinking rat bastard. She sounds like a nice girl and whatever, but really, that man's a stinking bastard and he don't deserve her, and he don't deserve the money that he thinks he's going to get off her.' Her eyes gleamed.

John seemed to give up remarkably easily.

'OK, well, fine. I suppose you don't need to take commands from me,' he said grimly. 'Look, I'm really glad you're helping Sherlock. And I'm really sorry for all that happened to you.'

'Thanks. It's over now though,' she said, looking embarrassed.

'Good. Look, Kitty, you know where I am now, right? If you need anything at any point, if you start running into any difficulties, you can come here and find me, OK?' She nodded and he smiled at her. 'And I hope your GCSEs go well too. Keep at them.'

'I will. Donna won't let me stop. It's cool.'

'I'd like to have a quick chat with Sherlock now, if that's OK.'

'Yeah, that's fine.'

'I'll pick you up at six,' Sherlock said.

'Yeah. I'll see you then.'

John stood to see her to the door and closed it behind her. Then he turned to Sherlock with a face like thunder.

'What?' Sherlock said.

'You can't take her.'

'I really don't see how it's up to you. She was quite insistent.'

'Yes, and using someone who's spent most of her life being used is morally abhorrent.'

'Two years is hardly most of her life…'

'Sherlock!' John shouted. 'I'm not pissing about here! This is not funny!'

'I know! Don't you want Adelbert Gruner to be stopped?'

'Of course I want him to be stopped!'

'Well then!' Sherlock sniffed and stood up. 'I'd better get on with that then. God knows why these women get themselves into this. Why don't they just leave them?'

Sherlock was surprised to find John's hand on his shoulder pushing him back down to the chair.

'What?' Sherlock asked. 'What have I said now? The man's unpleasant, they leave, it's perfectly….' He silenced under John's glare.

'OK, before I even get started with you,' John said, his finger an inch from the tip of Sherlock's nose, 'promise me that you would never ask such an insanely idiotic question in front of Mrs Hudson.'

'Mrs Hudson?' Sherlock said, utterly baffled. 'What on earth has…'

'Promise me,' John said, barely holding the rage from his voice. 'I swear, if you ever did I would…' he stopped to briefly consider Sherlock's potential punishment. 'I would never speak to you again. _Ever._'

The threat was obviously serious.

'I never will,' Sherlock said quietly. 'I promise.'

'Good,' John said, stepping back and dropping into Kitty's vacated chair. 'Right, OK, I had been under the impression that you had the slightest clue what we were dealing with here, but as you apparently don't, I'm going to try to get you up to speed in,' he checked his watch, 'twenty minutes or less.'

'I know what we're dealing with. He got away with murder and Judge De Merville doesn't want him marrying his daughter.'

'No,' John said, shaking his head. 'He doesn't want him destroying his daughter.'

'By killing her.'

'No. By destroying her. This is…' he shook his head. 'That was…' he gestured back at the door. 'That was a woman who has been abused. She was abused at the hands of someone stronger and more powerful than her it's true, but at the end of the day, she was abused at the hands of an abuser. People like Gruner are vile, disgusting, awful people. Yes, too right, he needs to be stopped but this is something more than a one off crime…'

'He murdered his wife, John.'

'Yes, I know, and he's destroyed the lives of countless others. Just because they didn't die doesn't mean that it's all OK then and their lives are full of joy and light. He destroys them.'

'Why does this matter so much to you?' Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes. There was something new to John here. Something enraged and hurt.

'It doesn't matter _to me,_' John said. 'It matters because _it matters._' He sighed. 'Abusers are just awful, and it's so, so hard to get to them because of the amount of thrall they hold their victims in. It's not always men. Not by any stretch of the imagination, and I've seen men in here utterly broken by their partners too and God that's hard because they just feel…' His voice died away as he remembered them, but then his face became hard again. 'But women are dying, Sherlock. Women are dying at a horrifying, terrifying rate at the hands of their partners and it shouldn't be happening. They're dying weekly, and for each one that dies, there's another mass of them being beaten, and there's even more being attacked verbally and constantly, and it's disgusting.'

He went quiet again, and Sherlock was surprised to find his heart beating swiftly while he waited for John to continue.

'I hate it,' he said. 'I hate it beyond anything.' He sighed and sat back. 'You want to know why they stay? There are all sorts of reasons. Sometimes they're held without any access to money at all. One partner makes it difficult for the other to work, and then gives them pocket money. Just enough to feed themselves and the kids if they're lucky. I had a woman in here once confused because she was having all these dizzy spells. Turns out she was feeding the kids first and eating the scraps of their plates when they finished. He didn't give her enough money to feed all of them. She had no coat, her shoes were worn through while he was driving around in his new Ferrari.' He bit his lip. 'She went back to him.'

'Why?' The question escaped before he could stop it, but John seemed calmer now he was explaining.

'On that occasion, because he'd convinced her that he'd take the kids and run. He told her she'd never see them again. He could afford a lawyer and she had nothing, and couldn't even afford to keep them properly fed and clothed, and absolutely no one to turn to for help, and nowhere to go. I haven't seen her in a while, and I hope that she got out somewhere safe.' He sighed deeply. 'Kids are often used as a weapon. The mother would rather stay in the house to protect the children than have to hand them over alone every other weekend. Other people stay because they simply can't see what's happening. They know they feel bad but they assume that the problem is them. God, yesterday…'

He stopped and rubbed his forehead, clearly deciding whether to share the story with Sherlock. Sherlock waited patiently.

'Yesterday I had this woman come in here. She was pregnant. It would be her sixth child, and she wanted….' He shook his head again. 'She didn't want to. That's the horror of it, but she _needed_ to stop the pregnancy. She couldn't cope with the idea of being pregnant or having another child to try to protect. So she made the choice that it simply couldn't happen. She said it was an accident, and it's true her birth control failed, but it's also true that he forced himself on her. That's what she said; he forced her. That was the level of comprehension she could deal with right then. He physically forced her, and it wasn't the first time, but you know what? She couldn't call it 'rape'. I did and she just backed off from that entirely, and said it was her fault and she hadn't been clear, and you know what? There's fuck all I can do about any of it. I made her the appointment she needed, and I gave her some numbers of people she could call who might help her, but I know she won't call them.'

'Why didn't you report it? It's a crime is it not?'

'How are you this stupid?' John asked. 'If I report it without her agreement, she'll just deny it. The instinct to protect her husband is seriously that strong. He's told her he'll kill himself if she ever left.'

'Wouldn't that be better?'

'He'd never do it, but she won't believe it from me, and she feels utterly responsible for his life. I am _hoping_ that she'll come back to the surgery again, I've asked her to make a follow up appointment, and it's possible that she'll do that, and maybe we can go slowly and carefully and I can get her to report it and get proper help and get the kids out somewhere safe. But I can't just barrel in there and force her hand or she'll just back off entirely and I'll lose the only chance I have. The amount of courage and strength she would need to pick up that phone, and he's just drained it all from her.' He gave Sherlock a dangerous, steely eyed look. 'That, by the way, is what I'm doing every day in my futile and pointless job.'

Sherlock nodded. 'I am sorry. I'm sorry. I hadn't thought… it had never occurred to me.'

'Well in case you were wondering, yes, yes I do want Gruner stopped. I want them all stopped, but I don't want Kitty Winter dragged in his firing line again. She got away, Sherlock. That makes her one of the amazingly strong few.'

Sherlock nodded and thought fast. 'I could just not pick her up I suppose.'

'No, don't be a dick about it. Just make sure she's protected.' John sighed. 'I don't know. Maybe it would work, this Violet girl hearing about it from someone who really knows. Just protect her, OK?'

Sherlock nodded again. 'I will.' He sighed. 'At least Violet is by all accounts quite clever so…' He broke off and scooted back as John stood and threw his hands in the air. 'I'm sorry!' he said, putting his hands up. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm honestly trying to understand!'

John settled slightly. 'It's not about _clever_. You can't go into this thinking that the victims are stupid. What happens is that these vile parasites, whether they're men or women, they leech onto their victims, and then slowly, very slowly, they drain every ounce of self-esteem and confidence from them. They will slowly cut them off from all their friends and family. They'll cut them off from all their support and they'll chip away, piece by piece until there's nothing left at all. They'll create this life where their victim is utterly dependent on them and in terror of staying and in terror of going. If they're strong, if they can hold onto just enough courage, some of them can get away. You'll note that Kitty tried to call this man back twice after he'd bled her dry. She can't even stay away from him now. She's drawn to him like a moth to a lightbulb, and I don't want to see her hurt.'

Sherlock nodded. 'I'll make sure that she isn't. I promise you.'

John sighed and glanced at his watch. 'Right, I have three minutes before my next patient, so clear out.'

'OK. Shall I call you after I've seen Violet? Actually, would it be better if you came?'

'No, not if Kitty is going to be there. She might stomach two of you but three of us would seem like intimidation. Call me after though.' He looked tiredly at Sherlock. 'When did you last eat?'

'Breakfast this morning. You were with me, remember?'

'That was yesterday. This morning I overslept. Take the cereal bar.'

Sherlock took it without question and put it into his pocket.

'I'll talk to you later,' he said. John had reclaimed his chair and turned back to his computer, and Sherlock looked at the back of his head. 'And thank you for explaining.'

'It's fine.'

Sherlock hesitated. 'About Mrs Hudson…'

John shrugged. 'You showed me the video. You saw it.'

'I didn't…'

John turned back to him. 'You honestly thought she wanted to be there?'

Sherlock felt his breath catch. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt as stupid.

'She doesn't talk about it that way,' he said dully.

'She barely talks about it at all. And do you honestly think you'd cope better? Now go away.'

Sherlock left, his hands plunged into his pockets, trying to catalogue and sort all of his new thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

John trotted down the stairs following the most mammoth Scarlet bedtime he remembered having. He'd felt guilty that he'd been home late, and that he'd still only managed half of the paperwork he needed to get done at the office. To make up for this he'd cleaned the kitchen and insisted on putting Scarlet down for the night so that Mary could have a long, relaxing bubble bath. Unfortunately Scarlet was out of sorts with a mixture of teething and having quite the wrong parent, and she'd refused to settle. Mary had offered to take over at the start of the second hour, but she'd had the wriggly, pestering unsettled child all day and John was convinced she needed the rest.

She was waiting for him in the living room, curled up on the sofa in her pyjamas with the lamps lit and a glass of wine at her side. She held a second glass, all crisp and cold from the fridge to John as he approached.

'Thank you,' she said. 'I needed that.'

'It's fine.'

'Sorry she was such a rascal.'

'That's fine too. And it's not your fault.' He sank down beside her and drank some wine. He groaned with delight and let his head drop.

Mary's dropped too and rested against him.

'I still worry that you're spreading yourself too thin,' she said.

'I'm fine. Don't worry. I do hate that I'm missing so much of her though.' He remembered her plaintive cries for 'Mummy', and felt guilty all over again.

Mary nestled into him. 'I think you should think about cutting down a bit,' she said. 'Even if it's just half a day.'

'Mm.' The practicalities of this flittered through his head. The problem was that half a day wouldn't cut it. They'd have the reduced income, and he still wouldn't have sufficient time to dedicate to either Scarlet or Sherlock.

'I could go back to work,' Mary said.

'No,' he said instantly, and then he looked sheepishly at her. 'Sorry. Obviously I mean that if you want to go back to work for whatever amount of time, then we'll do that. But I don't want you going back if the only reason is so that I don't have to so much. Plus, if I did that, I'd want to have Scarlet for that half day, and we'd still be stuck with the Sherlock situation.'

She wriggled. 'The Sherlock situation?'

'You know that I mean that with love.'

'Mm.' She grinned and drank some wine.

'I could just ask him to ask for my help less often,' he said.

'Then you'd both be miserable.'

'Mm.' He sighed. His phone beeped and he extracted himself from Mary to reach for it from the coffee table. 'Speak of the devil, Sherlock's apparently coming over.'

They heard the sound of someone fitting a key in the lock, and John pulled an apologetic face.

'Sherlock is apparently here,' he said.

She sniggered. 'He is at least trying to follow the 'text first' instruction.'

'Yeah.'

Sherlock appeared in the living room. He loomed just inside the doorway and blinked at them. John looked back at him with his eyebrows raised.

'Good evening,' Sherlock said eventually.

'Hello,' John replied.

'Mm.' Sherlock said. He continued to looks slightly confused.

'How did it go with Violet De Merville?' John asked.

'Not good.'

John sat up.

'No, no, don't worry,' Sherlock said quickly, waving a dismissive hand. 'Kitty has been returned to her flat, and I've arranged protection for her there. There will be people paying strict attention to her safety.'

'Good.'

'But it still wasn't… well, it wasn't…'

'Good?'

'No.'

Sherlock looked slightly dazed and confused. John narrowed his eyes at him.

'Did you eat that cereal bar?' he asked.

Sherlock frowned, and then dug into his pocket. 'Apparently not,' he said, holding it up.

Jon sighed and stood up. 'Come through to the kitchen. You can tell me about it there.' He turned him and shoved him towards the kitchen door. Sherlock dutifully went in and sat down. John started buttering bread, and Mary came in too to start the kettle.

'So, what happened?' John said.

'Where shall I start?'

'Try chronologically.'

'Hang on,' Mary put in. 'John's barely had time to tell me about this case at all. What's going on?'

'Sherlock has been commissioned by a high court judge to stop his daughter marrying… well, at best a cad, and at worse an abuser who may have murdered his former wife.' He took the cheese from the fridge.

'He definitely did,' Sherlock said. 'I'll come on to that in a bit though.'

'OK. Well anyway, Sherlock has been hired to attempt to persuade this girl from marrying him.'

'Sherlock has?' Mary asked. 'He thought that _Sherlock_ was the best person for that job?'

'Saner people have been tried,' John said. 'Sherlock's pretty much the last resort.'

'God.' She looked at Sherlock.

'Apparently I am not best suited to that job,' Sherlock said.

'Tell me about it,' John said.

'OK.' Sherlock said. 'OK,' he said again. 'Well the first thing of note is that I suspect you are right about the forty thousand pounds. The De Merville residence is one of those great big places on Norland Square, filled to the rafters with antiques and bespoke furniture from outstanding designers, nothing out of place, everything of the best quality and so forth. Poor Kitty seemed quite cowed by the experience. She lingered as though she didn't even want to touch the air for fear of breaking it, and eventually came to perch on the couch beside me for our interview. The next thing to know is, well, you know how beauty is a construct based on childhood influences?'

'We do,' John agreed, selecting an apple and starting to cut it into slices.

'Violet De Merville is an exceptionally beautiful woman.'

John and Mary exchanged a smirk.

'Certainly that was my first impression of the young lady. My second was that she was exceptionally cold. Cold and very calm.'

He went quiet and John glanced at him. He seemed deep in thought, so he just added the apple slices to the cheese in the sandwich.

'Remember that Gruner himself had instructed her to see me?' Sherlock asked.

'Yep.'

'He had… I can't even quite work out what he has managed to do, but essentially he appears to have told her every single detail of his past, but has done so in such a way that… Oh! Sandwich!' he actually looked delighted as it appeared in front of him.

John looked contentedly on while Sherlock demolished the first half. Mary put a cup of tea in front of him, and then joined John leaning against the worktop, watching Sherlock.

'Sorry, what was I saying?' Sherlock asked when he'd managed to pause.

'You were saying, 'Oh John, you are so right, I need to eat more regularly than I currently do.'' John said.

Sherlock frowned.

'Essentially he appears to have told her every single detail of his past, but has done so in such a way that…' Mary supplied.

'Yes, that sounds more likely,' Sherlock agreed. 'He seems to have done so in such a way as to paint himself as the poor innocent victim. It was strange; it was as if she wasn't even listening to herself talk. All these details came out, and the more things she added to the list of dreadful things that have happened to her beloved, the more ridiculous it sounded to me, and the more it added to her certainty that he'd had this terrible, awful life! There was an excuse or a reason for everything, and it was the world that was wrong, and every person in it was terrible and evil other than him.'

'Yeah,' John said. 'That sounds like the typical MO of that type.'

Sherlock nodded and took the last bite of sandwich. 'I started to see what Damery had meant when he suggested hypnosis,' he said through his mouthful. 'I tried. I honestly tried. Everything I'd found through research she batted away. I gave her clearly thought out and well evidenced explanations as to what had happened to both of his past wives, and do you know what she said?'

'What?' John asked.

Sherlock looked mournfully at his empty plate. 'John, you do make an excellent sandwich.'

John laughed and started to butter another two slices. 'But what did she say?'

'Oh yes, she looked at me, and with this horrifying intensity, she told me that he couldn't possibly have killed the two women in his life who he'd loved so desperately. She said to me, 'if he comes to love me just a tenth of the amount he loved either of those two women, then I'll die a happy woman.' It was chilling.'

John stopped to stare at Sherlock, aghast.

'I had honestly no idea what to say to that,' Sherlock said.

'Well, no.'

'Anyhow, that's when it started to go wrong,' Sherlock said as John placed a second sandwich in front of him.

'It got worse?' Mary asked.

'It got worse.' Sherlock ate for a while before he started up again. 'After the whole dutiful wife speech, Kitty seemed to shake off her nerves and she spoke up.'

'Kitty?' Mary asked.

'One of Gruner's previous conquests,' John said. 'Picked up, used, abused, chewed up and spat out. Sherlock hoped that she might talk some sense into Violet.'

'She tried,' Sherlock said, when he's swallowed again. 'I'm not quite sure what the problem was, but she started out angry, and that seemed to put Violet even more on the defensive. Kitty started to speak passionately about the man and the sort of things he'd done, and before she could get much out, Violet cut her off, claimed she knew all about the women who had thrown themselves at her Bertie, all after his money, all crying rape, and she thought they were no better than dirt on the street.'

'Oh, God,' John sighed.

'As you could imagine, this upset Kitty, and then the two of them started screaming at each other with all sorts of language across this beautifully set up living room in one of the most expensive houses in the country. I did try to calm them down, but things escalated quite quickly. I'm not quite sure of the full sequence of events, because I was at this point just longing for someone to hear and come in to stop them, but I do know that Kitty used the term 'spoiled, naïve little princess,' and I do know that Violet said 'damaged, deluded chav,' and shortly after that, they were physically at each other.'

'Oh God!' Mary said.

'No, unfortunately there was just me, and I did my best to get between them, but Kitty turns out to be as wily as a cat and has no reservations about stooping to anything to win a fight, and Violet appears to have had some martial arts training at some point, and the two of them…' he sighed.

John caught sight of Mary's gaping face, and he suddenly couldn't hold back the snigger.

'Sorry,' he said quickly, but then Mary was gone too, and then there was no holding back the laugh.

'It isn't funny!' Sherlock said, looking crossly at the pair of them.

'No, no of course it's not,' John agreed, sitting down at the table with him. He giggled again. 'Only the picture of you trying to hold apart two raging nineteen year old girls is actually very funny, yes.'

Mary sat down too and wiped her eyes. 'Was either of them actually hurt?'

'No, I don't think so. Nothing beyond a scratch or so and a fair amount of damaged pride all round. I think a part of both of them knew they shouldn't go too far. At one point both had a handful of the other's hair, but none of the hair actually came out. No! Stop laughing!'

'Sorry!' John said, trying to control himself.

'You should have been there,' Sherlock told John sternly. 'At least then we could have held off one on one.'

'Yeah, sorry,' John said, still sniggering.

'Anyhow,' Sherlock went on. 'I did eventually get Kitty off Violet, which, I should add caused her to turn a fair amount of her ire on me, and I'd just bundled her into a cab to take her home when Violet's Bertie Gruner appeared around the corner.'

This wiped the smile of John's face. 'You met Gruner?'

'I did indeed. We walked together from Holland Park to Pimlico, and on the way he regaled me with tales of his many exploits, including the murder of both of his previous wives. He has no shame. He has no fear of the law. He has a moustache, by the way.' Sherlock grimaced. 'I hate moustaches.'

'Good, right,' John said. 'And coming back to Gruner in general, I don't suppose you got any of his confession recorded?'

'No. Partly because I didn't think of it until half way along the walk, and partly because it would have been really obvious at that point what I was doing. Besides, it wouldn't have been admissible in court. Anyhow, eventually he tired of telling me about his exploits and he got on with the threats. He mentioned a fellow called Johannes Brun, French secret service, went missing a couple of years ago. I have a vague recollection of Mycroft prattling about it at the time. Anyhow, from what Gruner was saying Brun is now scattered in pieces across several European countries. He indicated that the same fate would happen to me if I persevered with Violet.' Sherlock shrugged and drank some tea.

John tasted something sour in his mouth. 'I wish he'd said that in front of me,' he muttered.

'Yes, you should have been there. I keep saying,' Sherlock said.

'Sorry. I've just had stuff on.'

'I know. I'm just saying.'

'Sherlock,' Mary said, 'John and I were talking about the possibility of him coming back to work for you, and I was wondering what you thought about that.'

'Mary!' John said. 'We've discussed no such thing, don't worry about it,' he added to Sherlock.

Sherlock was already shaking his head thought. 'Working for me? No, that would never do at all.'

Despite his earlier protests, John felt surprisingly disappointed.

'Working _with _me,' Sherlock went on. 'Now of course that would be ideal from my point of view. There's no way I could manage another person. I can barely manage myself.'

John felt a strange, warm glow in his chest. Mary grinned at him.

'We've discussed it of course,' Sherlock went on, 'but it's come to nothing so far.'

'You never told me you'd discussed it,' Mary said, frowning at John.

'No, there's a reason for that,' John replied. 'Sherlock, can you remember, was I present at this discussion?'

'I don't know,' Sherlock said, screwing his face up. 'I think about it a lot, so I'd assume you've been present at least one of the many discussions. On the other hand, that would explain why I can never remember why you've said no.'

'Well it's very kind of you,' John said, keeping a wistful sigh at bay. 'But things aren't the same now. I need a salary and a pension and so forth.'

'A salary?' Sherlock said, frowning. 'I hadn't considered that at all. I'd just assumed that we'd split all profits fifty fifty.'

'Well that's quite clearly ridiculous,' John said. 'I'm not of equal value to you.'

'Yes you are.' Sherlock shrugged. 'You negotiated a thirty thousand pound payment for a few days' work.'

'I nearly lost you that commission just by being in the room. Besides, you only get that if she doesn't marry him.'

'She's more likely to not marry him if you're involved. I'm pretty sure you would at least have been able to prevent Kitty Winter getting Violet De Merville in a choke hold, which would probably have been a better start. But you are right; my income does fluctuate, and if you require a steadier income, then I suppose we can work from that. Mycroft would obviously sort out taxes and pensions and so forth.'

They held each other's gaze for a while.

'Anyway,' Sherlock said, 'you can think about it at least. I know your current job means a lot to you, of course.'

'Yeah.'

'And it is important.'

'Yes. But what you do is important too.'

Sherlock merely nodded and drained his tea.

'Sherlock, do you want me to make a bed up for you on the sofa?' Mary asked.

'No,' he said, pushing himself up. 'Now we know that my persuasive powers aren't going to work, I'm going to work on a plan to extract these pictures that Kitty's seen. I'll think and walk. I just wanted to update you on the events so far. Thank you for the fuel.'

'It's fine.' John followed him down to the front door. 'Look, keep me up to date with what's happening,' he said. 'I've got a clinic tomorrow morning, and I still have to get the pile of paperwork done, but I should be free at some point in the afternoon. Certainly don't embark on any hare-brained schemes about this memory stick without running them by me first, OK?'

'OK.' Sherlock nodded. 'I don't mean to put any pressure on you to come back to work with me, you know.'

'I know.' John breathed in the cool night air. 'And the idea is extraordinarily tempting. But then I remember what sort of parent I want to be for Scarlet, and I worry.'

'And what you do is important,' Sherlock said. 'Aside from the fathering, I mean.'

'Yeah.'

'But what I do is much more…'

'Dangerous.'

'I was going to say interesting.'

John grinned. 'Yeah.'

'Good night now.'

'Speak to you tomorrow.'

Sherlock turned around and flipped his collar up as he strode away. John watched for a while before closing the door and going back in to finish his wine.


	5. Chapter 5

The following morning, John and Mary walked together along the road. Despite Scarlet waking them up stupidly early, John had still managed to leave the house far later than he had intended. Mary was taking Scarlet out in her pushchair in the vain hope that she would be lulled back to sleep for a few hours. The pair of them were fuzzy headed and tired following a long drawn out conversation about Sherlock's offer over the rest of the bottle of wine.

The end result of this, other than mild headaches, was that nothing had been decided. Just the same questions had been asked over and over again with the same answers given each time. Neither of them had raised the subject as yet this morning, both being slightly concerned that they'd just be drawn back in again, and they'd be no further along.

'What shall we eat tonight?' Mary asked.

This was generally a safeish subject.

'I don't mind,' John replied, hunger being a long way from his thoughts. 'Whatever you fancy.'

'I don't mind,' she said through a yawn. Just something easy.'

'I'll get fish and… Oh my God!' he stopped short, staring at a news poster outside the corner shop.

_Hat Detective fights for life after attack _blazed the headline. John was running into the shop before he'd even processed it and had grabbed a newspaper from the stack and took it back outside. He vaguely registered the angry protests behind him as he scanned through the article for details.

'He's at UCH,' he said to Mary.

'Go! Just go,' she said, looking from him to the angry newsagent. 'I'll sort the surgery. Just go.'

He charged along the street, desperately looking for a cab but finding none before the tube station he darted down the steps there instead. He spent the short journey rereading the details. There weren't many, though suspected internal bleeding was mentioned. There was a picture too, which appeared to have been taken from someone's phone. The quality was poor, but it was quite clearly Sherlock there, and the amount of surrounding blood was worrying. He switched to a cab at King's Cross, and amazed himself by tearing down the hospital corridors just forty minutes later. He arrived at the Intensive Care reception breathless.

'Sherlock Holmes is here,' he panted. 'Which room?'

'Are you family?' the nurse asked suspiciously.

'No, but I'm prepared to make a massive nuisance of myself unless you let me see him,' he said, giving her a steady look.

'It really is family only.'

'OK, well you just…' he broke off, his brain catching up with the conversation. 'Sorry. I'm sorry. If Sherlock's brother is here, can you ask him to come and see me?'

She did not look mollified, but she did at least disappear down the corridor and into a little room, the number of which John noted for future reference. She returned quickly and Mycroft slunk into the corridor behind her.

'John,' he said smoothly. 'Do come and join us.'

John walked towards him thinking about how his fist was just itching to find a face right now, and Mycroft's was looking particularly tempting. He ignored this for now though, and instead focused on finding Sherlock.

Sherlock was lying in the bed, well bandaged, bruised and still slightly bloody. There were the usual bleeping machines that John took in with a glance. There was no chest tube, which settled him slightly. Sherlock was exceedingly pale in the bed, and unconscious.

'Shit,' he finally said.

'Oh he's fine,' Mycroft shrugged.

John turned on him. 'Do you know where Gruner is right now? Right at this very second? If so, tell me quickly so I can go and kill him.'

'Don't be so dramatic,' Mycroft said.

John started towards him, fists clenched, and Mycroft scurried back to the wall.

'John, he really is fine!' he said, raising his hands a little. 'Go and check for yourself if you don't believe me!'

John stepped back, but he didn't stop snarling as he approached the bed. It took him a while to see it, but when he did, he felt the slight step-change in the world. The pulse and blood pressure machines were attached to Sherlock, but the details they were displaying were clearly not the ones given out by Sherlock's body. The drip machine was delivering saline to Sherlock, and he was quite obviously bruised and bloodied, but he appeared to be significantly more stable than the readings suggested.

John turned back to Mycroft.

'What have you done?'

'It's standard practice,' Mycroft said. 'Occasionally when we need to have an agent leave the field for a while, we arrange for them to stay in intensive care. It's the easiest way of protecting them, and Sherlock made the job slightly easier by getting into a fight first. We've sorted enough troubling symptoms out to baffle the doctors here, and they'll want to keep him for a few days at least.'

'What the hell?'

'I already explained it in as simple terms as I could.'

John seethed. 'Do you have any idea how much these beds cost to run?' he asked. 'They are needed for actual sick people! They're not bloody hotel rooms!'

'Oh I'll pay for the room if you're that bothered.'

John glared.

'Fine,' Mycroft said. 'I will arrange to have the NHS budget increased by… would two per cent do it?'

'For now,' John accepted. 'But for the love of God, man, do you not get how this complicates things? There is currently no way of telling how badly damaged he actually is!'

'He's fine!'

'He's clearly not fine!'

'John?' Sherlock muttered.

'Yes, sorry. You OK?' John said, going over to him.

'Mm,' Sherlock said with his eyes closed and the faintest of smiles. 'Much as I enjoy watching you tear strips off my brother, is there any chance you could do it quietly?'

John sagged with relief. 'Yeah. Sorry. OK, let's have a look at you, shall we?'

Sherlock obligingly opened his eyes. One was swollen and bloodshot, and the sluggish and uneven response from his pupils told John that there was certainly a concussion. Sherlock's head was bandaged too tightly and too neatly for John to risk removing it to check any wounds, but could see that his hair had been shaven close to the scalp along the left side of his hairline at the front, so he suspected stitches had been necessary. One arm was bandaged tightly, and there was a half cast on his left hand. He rudely but gently pulled Sherlock's gown away to reveal several ugly bruises down his right side, and he registered that there were probably several broken ribs. Finally he took his pulse. It was running faster than he'd like, but not quite as erratically as the readings on the machine suggested.

'OK,' he said. 'So significantly better than the newspapers suggest, but worse than Mycroft is pretending. That's something.'

'He's fine,' Mycroft muttered.

'I'm fine,' Sherlock murmured, giving John a complicated half smile through his broken and swollen lip. 'You should have seen the other guy.'

John smiled at him. Sherlock winced.

'What pain relief have you had?' he asked.

'Of course he hasn't had any,' Mycroft said. 'I arranged something to make him sleep because he was annoying me, but you know he can't handle pain medication.'

John briefly thought about how good it would feel to beat Mycroft Holmes to a bloody pulp, and then use his broken body to mop the floor.

'I'll discuss it with the doctors when they come round,' he said quietly to Sherlock.

'Thank you.' Sherlock sighed. 'They shaved my hair,' he added mournfully.

'It's only a bit and I'm sure it was necessary.'

'It was a lucky blow with a heavy knife,' Sherlock said. 'Lucky for both of us really. I should have deflected it, but it could have been much worse. There were two of them,' he added. 'I could probably have handled one, but the second just suddenly appeared. They were waiting for me at Baker Street. I should have slept on your couch after all.'

'Yeah,' John said, feeling guilty all over again about leaving Sherlock to deal with so much by himself.

Sherlock seemed to catch something in his look.

'I really am OK, he said. 'Like Mycroft said, it's currently convenient for Gruner to think he has me safely out of the way. I'd appreciate it if you perpetuated the lie.'

'OK. If that's what you need.'

Mycroft huffed from the other side of the room.'

'Right,' John said, 'I'd better get off to work for a bit then.'

'What are you talking about?' Mycroft snapped. 'You can't possibly go to work!'

John frowned. 'But he's more or less fine.'

'And just how would it look? While Sherlock Holmes is fighting for his life, John Watson toddles off to his day job. You have to be here. I have to be here. And the worst part of all of it is that our parents are hurrying down to be with their dying son right now!'

'I really am sorry,' Sherlock murmured.

'No, it's fine,' John said gently.

'How is it fine when he says it, but not when I say it?' Mycroft asked.

'I like him,' John replied.

Sherlock smirked, and then winced.

'There might be a way of you sneaking out somehow,' Sherlock said. 'Or go out openly but look really concerned.'

'I have to call Mary to update her anyhow,' John said.

Mycroft instantly started up. 'When you make that call, make sure…'

'Oh for the love of God!' John snapped. 'Don't even think about finishing that sentence!'

'John…' Sherlock whined.

'Sorry,' he said. 'Look, I am going to go out now. I'll come back straight after I've finished my clinic though. I will look dutifully upset and concerned.'

'OK,' Sherlock said.

'And on my way out, I'll find your doctor and discuss pain medication.'

'Thank you.'


	6. Chapter 6

John did as promised and he was almost completely satisfied that Sherlock would be looked after by the doctors at any rate while he was away. Obviously Mycroft's 'care' was a different matter. He did a good job leaving too, with his hands thrust into his pockets and his head bowed. He even managed, when passing the gaggle of shouting reporters, to give a grim shake of his head and a deep sigh. He hoped that would be enough.

The receptionists at work were slightly frosty towards him which didn't help his mood at all. His phone call to Mary was all over the place while he oscillated wildly between wanting her not to worry, and being concerned in case their line was being listened to. He was dissatisfied as he hung up. He was able to focus fully on his patients, and he forced himself to sit through another hour of truly tedious paperwork before he was ready to return to the hospital again. He decided to jog past the reporters in a worried fashion and hoped that that would be good enough for Mycroft.

He was again stopped again at the ward reception.

'I'm sorry, My Holmes is at his maximum amount of visitors,' the nurse there said.

This put John in something of a predicament. He couldn't leave. He'd never hear the end of it if he left without seeing Sherlock, and his performance in front of the reporters would suddenly seem a little odd. On the other hand, Sherlock was surprisingly well stocked as far as family was concerned, and he could hardly barge in there and demand time. He fretted.

'OK, well, could you let him know that I'm downstairs in the cafeteria whenever he's available? I'm sure his brother will find me.'

She gave him a bit of a look, but he lingered until she went up the corridor into Sherlock's room. She wasn't long, and Mrs Holmes followed her out and dashed down the corridor to him.

'Oh, John!' She said, pulling him into a warm hug. 'Thanks so much for coming. Come and see my poor boy.'

'Er, it's sort of family only,' he said, embarrassed.

'You're family!' she insisted. 'If truth be told, I'd swap you for Mycroft with the way he's been going on today. We'll leave John with Sherlock for now,' she told the nurse firmly. 'He really is as good as a brother. You should let him in whenever he's here.'

John smiled sheepishly. 'Thank you.'

He followed her back to the room where he found Sherlock looking somewhat worse than when he'd left him that morning. He was almost grey and though he was still, he seemed tense and stiff.

Mrs Holmes went back to the bed and pointlessly fussed with the blanket.

'Poor boy's been asleep this half hour gone,' she whispered.

John was relatively certain that this wasn't true, but he smiled at her nonetheless.

'Probably best to let him sleep then,' he whispered back.

'Oh he's fine!' Mycroft snapped. 'He's not even asleep! He's faking it!'

'I think we've heard quite enough from you today, thank you very much!' Mrs Holmes said.

Mycroft tossed his head, and John struggled to hold back his snigger. It didn't help that he saw Sherlock's jaw twitch in his otherwise perfectly still face.

The fact that Mrs Holmes quietly suggested that the three other uninjured Holmses leave made him suspect that she'd seen this too. She gently bustled them all out of the door. It had been closed behind them for less than a second before Sherlock opened his eyes.

'How are you feeling?' John asked quietly. 'Did they give you what I asked them to?'

'They did, but then the let my family in and now I need more.'

John smiled. 'It's nice to be loved though, isn't it?'

'That wasn't love. That was flapping and clucking insanely while Mycroft took great pleasure in winding Father up because he thinks it's funny that he's so stupid.'

'That's not nice. I'm glad you never do things like that.'

'I don't with him. It's like arguing with blancmange. No. True love would have been to sit respectfully and quietly for an hour, and then to have left without a fuss.'

John grinned, sat down in the visitor's chair and dug in his bag for the newspaper.

An hour later, Sherlock started up again.

'Can you do two, no, three things for me?' he asked.

John stood again. He was pleased to see that Sherlock did indeed look slightly stronger and healthier for a short break from people.

'Sure; what do you need?'

'First, could you go to see Kitty Winter? Partly to check that she's perfectly well, and partly to see whether there has been any communication between her and Bert Gruner. She didn't give her name when she saw Violet, but it's entirely possible that he's traced her and has instigated contact. I'm now also beginning to see that it's possible that this whole escapade has started up her curiosity about him. Like you say, a moth to a light bulb. Either way, see what's happening.'

'OK.'

'Secondly, can you see whether Gruner has tried to contact me? Check my phone and my emails. Keep my phone with you for now and field any calls.'

'OK. Consider it done.'

'Thank you. Finally, could you possibly become an expert in Chinese antique pottery by tomorrow evening?'

'Sorry, what?'

'Chinese pottery. I need an expert.'

John looked steadily at him. 'Are you sure this isn't a delirium thing?'

'It is not a delirium thing. Can you do it?'

'I'm not quite sure how I'll do it.'

Sherlock sighed. 'There are books. There is the internet. I'm sure you'll manage.'

'Aren't you already an expert in Chinese pottery?'

Sherlock smiled. 'Beautiful flattery, John. Some of your finest work. Nicely understated. Unfortunately I need you for this particular job.'

'OK. Is that the lot?'

'It is.'

'Good. Now, how would you feel about moving wards?'

'I'd be delighted to move wards. Especially if you don't tell my family where I am.'

John snorted. 'Well, I'm not completely convinced that I'll get away with that. We'll have to rely on the hospital keeping confidentiality, but we'll do it after hours so that you're not spotted. You really don't need to be in this room though. Plus, it will really piss Mycroft off.'

'Definitely then.'

'OK. I'll talk to the doctor again.'

By the time John left the hospital, he was satisfied that Sherlock was going to be medicated appropriately, and that the handover from ICU to his friend Ben's observation ward was going to be satisfactory. He didn't doubt the discretion of anyone who worked at the hospital, though he was determined to keep a low profile himself as he left late in the afternoon. The gaggle of reporters had been reduced to one or two really determined ones, and he felt comfortable enough to walk past them without commenting.

He was relatively close by, so he decided to walk to the British Library for information on Chinese pottery, and he checked Sherlock's phone as he did so.

There was a blank voicemail followed by one from Molly and another from Lestrade, both asking whether the newspaper rumours were true or not. He realised that they'd probably worked it out by now, but he made a mental note to call them both as soon as he was finished with Kitty. The email was more interesting, and there were indeed three mails from Gruner. The first was to express faux concern about the dreadful events that had led to Sherlock's hospital visit. The second seemed to have been fired off in a jocular but antagonistic mood, and he congratulated himself on so successfully removing Sherlock from his immediate concerns. The final one had been sent just an hour before, and it confused John slightly. He had forwarded an electronic ticket for a flight to Vancouver, showing the trip out as that coming Saturday, and the return one for mid-December. Also attached were a string of short mails between him and Violet in which he expressed his anguish that he'd have to leave her for so long, and urging her to press on with preparations for the wedding, which would take place just four days after his return.

John pondered this as he went into the library. It took him a short while to find the right section, and he was sorely tempted to just borrow 'Chinese Potter for Dummies', but he accepted that Sherlock was expecting a proper job from him, so he chose a book that was dog-eared from use and looked really quite dense, and a second which was about the size of a phone book but contained mostly pictures. He checked them out, put them into his bag, lugged it onto his shoulder and set off to Kitty's flat.

It turned out that she lived right out in Norbury, not far from Croydon. He flicked through the pottery books on the long journey there, but his heart wasn't really in it and he mostly just accepted he'd have to go over it all again later. Kitty's flat was in a road of Victorian terraced houses, pretty much indistinguishable from all the other roads of Victorian terraced houses around it. A number of the properties had been converted into two or even three flats, and Kitty lived in the upper floor of one of these. He spotted a number of vaguely familiar faces on the road, just milling about, but he wasn't approached as he walked up the garden path to ring the intercom.

Kitty's voice was slightly breathless and tense as she answered it.

'It's John Watson,' he said. 'Sorry I didn't call. I just wanted to pop round and check on you.'

'I'm fine,' came the slightly stilted response.

John was aware that one of the lurkers had sauntered slightly closer to the house. He turned back to the intercom.

'Would it be better if I came back when your housemate was home?' he asked.

'Would you mind?' she responded. 'She's due back in half an hour or so.'

'Yeah, that's fine. I'll be on the corner waiting, OK?'

He started to move away, again looking to check the whereabouts of the 'protection' that Sherlock had arranged. He was only a few metres away when he heard Kitty calling.

'John!'

He turned around and found she'd opened the front door in her pyjamas and bare feet.

'You OK?' he asked, walking back, but not going onto the front path.

'Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just… Do you want to come up?'

'Are you sure?'

'Yeah. I'm just being silly.'

He considered insisting that he waited, but weighed this up against her clear anxiety that he was outside waiting for her, and went back through the garden gate. She smiled in a worried fashion and led her into the house and up to her little flat. It was neat and clean and filled with practical furniture.

'Do you want a tea or a coffee?' she asked.

'No, I'm honestly fine. Sherlock just wanted me to come and see how you were after yesterday. That's all.'

'Is he OK?' she asked. 'I saw in the newspaper…' her eyes got a bit teary.

John sat down and waved her to an armchair. She curled up in it with her feet on the seat.

'OK, well Sherlock isn't in an ideal situation at the moment, but he's generally pretty strong, so we're all hopeful he'll get better. He recovered from being shot in the chest once, so we have quite a lot of hope. He'll be in hospital a good long time while he recovers though. The good news is that he was conscious for some of today, and thinking well enough to be concerned about you.'

She nodded fearfully.

'He told me that you and Violet got into a fight yesterday. Were you hurt?'

The tears started spilling down Kitty's face.

'I'm OK,' she muttered. 'God, I'm stupid though. This is stupid for one thing.' She wiped her face on her hands and John started going through his pockets for a handkerchief, but he came up with nothing. 'It's just, well, now she might call the police and have me arrested for assault,' Kitty wailed. 'And if she does, he'll know where I am, and then everything that me and Donna have done will be wasted.'

'No, no,' John soothed. 'I am certain that if it came to that, we'd be able to put in place enough safeguards to make sure that he never got your address.'

She shook her head and swiped away tears. 'It was stupid anyhow. She'd done nothing wrong. It's him I want to sink my fingernails into.'

'I know how you feel,' John said gently. 'He really is the worst kind of scum.'

He just sat there and let her cry for a few minutes.

'Were you hurt?' he asked when she'd calmed down a little. 'Sherlock said no but he wasn't sure.'

She shook her head. 'No. I'm a bit achy and my head got a bit pulled about. I've done worse to myself at the gym though.' She gave him a small smile and he was pleased to see some of her fighting spirit coming back.

'Well that's good. Look, I just want to make sure that Gruner has left you alone. We haven't got any reason to think that he might try to contact you, but we wanted to be sure. Just so we can make sure we put in place enough stuff to keep you safe.'

She nodded. 'To be honest, I haven't liked to check, just in case.'

'Do you want to do that now, while I'm here? I mean, I can't do much apart from talk to people and make sure nobody bothers you.'

She nodded slightly and went to start up the computer on the table under the window. John just watched and didn't come to peer over her shoulder. She quietly worked her way through her email, and then checked Twitter and Facebook.

'He doesn't seem to of,' she said. 'Twitters the one that I worry about, but I hardly ever use it and he's not there.'

'Do you use any messaging apps?'

'No.' She shook her head. 'I'm really only on Facebook, and I don't even contact many people there, just in case.'

'Sensible move. I've never seen the attraction.'

She smiled and picked up her mobile phone.

'He doesn't have this number,' he said. 'But I still get scared in case he finds it somewhere and contacts me.' She turned it on and looked gingerly at it. 'There's nothing,' she said eventually. 'He hasn't contacted me.' She gave the phone to John and smiled grimly. 'He's probably forgotten that I even existed. I was nothing but a convenience to him, like a throw-away tissue or something.' She started quietly crying again.

John quickly checked the phone, and there was really nothing there. He gave it back to her.

'Look, it's a good thing,' he said miserably. 'It's good that you're not a target right now. You're under his radar, and that's a safe place to be. I'm just glad that Sherlock didn't shine the spotlight on you.'

She nodded but continued to cry.

There was the sudden sound of a key in the door, and Kitty flinched. The door opened and a tall, square shouldered woman strode in.

'Kitty, are you all… who are you?' she asked, spotting John.

'This is John Watson,' Kitty said. 'He's a friend.' She sniffed noisily. 'This is my flatmate, Donna.'

'Some friend!' Donna snapped. 'How dare you barge yourself in here! You can see the state she's in!'

'Donna…' Kitty started.

'What the hell were you thinking? Sending her off like that!'

'It weren't him,' Kitty said miserably. 'He said not too. I was just too stupid.'

'No…' John said gently.

Donna had already crossed the room and was rubbing Kitty's back.

'It wasn't your fault,' she said. 'You just wanted to help his new woman.'

'And we really were grateful,' John said.

'Yeah,' Kitty sniffed again. 'Fat lot of good it did. I don't think nothing would stop him until he's dead. That's the only thing that'd help that silly girl. And even if she did leave him, there'd only be the next and the next one after that. He's disgusting.'

'I know,' John said. 'Hopefully Sherlock will get better and will find a way of stopping him soon. And the good news is that he's going to be out of the country for a bit. Hopefully that will help a bit.'

Kitty stopped her weeping and looked up at him. 'What do you mean?'

'He's got to go away. We're tracking his movements and he's going to be out of the country for a while. A few months from Sunday.'

Kitty gave him a strange, stressed look. 'Well that's good I suppose. I don't know though, absence makes the heart grow stronger and all that.'

'Did it make yours?' John asked.

She sagged slightly. 'I don't know. No. Not today anyhow.'

'Well that's something,' he said. 'Look, I'm really sorry to have disturbed you, but I'm glad you're safe. We'll try to make sure you stay that way too. Like I said before, if you need anything, anything at all, you know where to find me, OK?'

Kitty nodded and John stood up.

'I really am sorry to come in and bother you,' he said again. 'You have a nice evening now, OK? Look after yourself.'

Donna nodded distantly at him, and he let himself out, making sure that the lock clicked on behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

John was properly exhausted by the time he was travelling back across London on the hot tube. He didn't bother trying with his books again, and focussed on just trying to stay awake. He wasn't amazingly successful with this, and twice his head drooped. On the second occasion, he was almost asleep leaning on the burly man sitting next to him, and he had to give some horribly embarrassed apologies.

He staggered off a stop too early and wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed that. The huge books in his rucksacks were beginning to really weigh down on his shoulder, and half way between the tube and his house, his old war wound started to throb. He didn't think he'd ever been so pleased to see the hall light shining out through the glass in his front door.

Mary was in the living room with Scarlet in her arms. Scarlet's eyes were drooping, but she sat up and smiled at John.

'Oh, I nearly had her!' Mary quietly complained.

'I'm really sorry,' he said.

'No, it's fine. I just wanted her unconscious so that you could catch up with me properly.'

'Yeah. Well in very brief, Sherlock's going to be absolutely fine.'

She breathed out. 'Oh God! Thank God for that.'

'Yeah.' He smiled at Scarlet and tweaked her chin. 'Wow. That's one tired child.'

'Tell me about it. She's been a real joy today.'

'We need Uncle Sherlock out of hospital. He'd cheer her up instantly.'

Mary smiled at him. 'Go and have a long bath. I'll have her away before you're out of it.' She leaned to kiss him and carried Scarlet away to a quieter room.

John took her advice and went to run a bath.

He was not unsurprised when Mary woke him some forty minutes later with the bath water turning tepid around him and his fingers pruning unpleasantly.

She wrinkled her nose at him. 'Bit tired are you?'

'Oh, God, sorry.'

'It's fine. Are you staying in or getting out?'

'Out I think.'

'I'll go and heat up your dinner.'

He groaned at the thought of it. 'Sorry. Yeah, that'd be good.'

'You're not hungry?'

'I think I passed hungry about three hours ago. Now nothing's getting through the tired.' He yawned widely. 'I'd better eat though. I've got work to do.'

She left and he pulled himself out of the water and roughly dried himself. He chose his oldest, most comforting dressing gown and went to join her in the kitchen. Thankfully dinner was just good soup and nice bread, and as it came with a nice hot cup of tea, he sat down to it. He surprised himself by virtually inhaling it without even speaking. Mary sat down with him and smiled. When he was finished, she took away the plates and took a slice of banoffee pie from the fridge.

'I almost didn't save it for you,' she said, putting it in front of him. 'I got to the point when I thought that I'd been dealing with the demon child quite long enough and I deserved it. Then I thought of you with Sherlock and thought you needed it more. Now I know he's fine though…'

He grinned and leaned to reach the cutlery draw and he handed her a second fork, pushing the plate to between them.

'Well, I had two demonic children to deal with,' he said, and she sniggered. 'Mycroft appears to be full of anger that he didn't get to Sherlock before he'd been beaten up so badly. I can't say for sure whether he's cross because he feels guilty about that, or whether it's because he didn't get to watch.' John shrugged. 'Could go either way. Also, he's not the centre of attention. Sherlock is equally pissed off that he was stupid enough to get hurt in the first place, and that he ended up relying on a Mycroft rescue. Also, he's in quite a lot of pain. It's been fun.'

'How bad's the damage?' she asked taking another forkful of pie.

'He's got himself a concussion, a nasty looking contusion, a black eye, a bust lip, a couple of broken ribs, a sprained wrist and he's broken two bones in his hand. On the upside, he's perfectly able to be cantankerous, belligerent and demanding, so all evidence suggests that he really is fine. It was Mycroft's idea to keep him well out of Gruner's way, and Sherlock seems to be vaguely hopeful it will perhaps flush Gruner into action. I don't know though. He sent me on a mission to make sure Kitty was fine. She is.' He sighed.

'Well, I'm thinking of having an early night if you want to join me.'

He sighed. 'I really want to. I can't though. My other task is to learn as much as I possibly can about Chinese pottery tonight.'

She stared blankly. 'Chinese pottery?'

'Apparently so. I don't suppose you know anything about Chinese pottery do you?'

'Not a thing.'

'Right. Well, it's the internet and the books then. Good-o.'

'Why don't you come to bed? You're not going to learn much tonight anyhow.'

'I really can't. I don't know why he needs me to know, so I can't work out where I can skimp. I'm sorry.'

'No, it's fine,' she said, shaking his wrist on the table slightly. 'I'm just worried that you're already knackered, that's all.'

'Yeah. Well, I'd better get started anyhow. I'll join you in a few hours. I promise.'

She leaned across the table to kiss him, and for a second, he thought he might lose himself forever in that kiss.

'Just don't work too hard, OK?' she said.

'Bare minimum. I'll aim for bare minimum.'

They pulled themselves up from the kitchen and wandered back to the front room where Mary left him digging his books out of his bags. He sat down on the sofa and watched her disappearing upstairs, fighting the urge to follow her and sleep for the next six years. He opened the first book.

'Bare minimum,' he muttered. 'Just the bare minimum for a world's expert. Right.'

oOo

John opened his eyes. He was treated to the up-close vision of his drooly daughter who was standing with the aid of the edge of the sofa and displaying her newest tooth.

'Woah!' he said, nearly falling off his perch.

'You were there all night!' Mary said, exasperated.

'Oh no…' John scrambled up and gathered the books from the floor. He opened the first one again, and realised that while he remembered reading the scintillating first paragraph about twelve times, he didn't remember a thing past that. The evidence strongly suggested that he hadn't turned the first page at all. He buried his face in his hands.

'John…' Mary said.

'I'm sorry,' he mumbled through his fingers.

'It's fine with me! I just think you'd have been better off coming up to a normal bed for proper sleep rather than having a really long nap on the sofa.'

'I know,' he sighed. 'He's going to kill me.'

'Well fortunately he's in a hospital bed and has broken ribs. You could probably take him at the moment.'

He frowned. 'I'm pretty sure I could take him anyway.'

She grinned. 'Come on. I'm going to make you some coffee.'

He looked at his watch and groaned. 'I'm going to be late for clinic.'

'John,' she said gently, 'it's Saturday. You don't have to work today.'

'Oh thank God! I can get back to the pottery.'

'No, you can't. You can have breakfast with me and Scarlet, and then if you really want to, you can go and see Sherlock. But I think he can wait. You need a break.'

John looked at her. He decided that the offer was tempting enough, and Sherlock was already going to be furious with him due to the pottery thing, so he might as well be furious with him with regard to having to wait for him for another hour. He sat at the kitchen table with Scarlet bouncing on his knee and stealing his toast. Mary, with her mischievous eyes twinkling, pointlessly tested him on various aspects of Chinese pottery and his answers became more and more ridiculous, and her face shone as she laughed at him. Eventually he handed a very grimy girl up to her and went to shower and change.

He was feeling surprisingly relaxed and upbeat as he walked into the hospital. So much so that he barely remembered to put on a show for the small number of reporters still hanging around waiting for word of the great detective's death. He certainly walked into Sherlock's room with a spring in his step, and was somewhat amused to see the matching dark and snarly faces of the Brothers Holmes.

'Good morning!' he said brightly.

'What is Sherlock doing in this room, John?' Mycroft asked.

'Where have you been?' Sherlock snapped.

'Sherlock is recovering in this room, and I've been at home, eating breakfast.'

'He should be in intensive care!'

'No, he really, really shouldn't!'

'Anyone at the hospital could have spotted his move and leaked it to the media!'

'They won't.'

'They might!'

'Well yeah, if someone passing by hears the temper tantrum you're currently having then maybe, but otherwise, they're professional here.'

Mycroft huffed in dispute.

John narrowed his eyes dangerously at him. 'Is there something you'd like to add?' he asked.

Mycroft stalked to the tiny window and glared out of it.

'Now you,' he said to Sherlock.

'No, it's fine. That was worth the wait.'

John grinned. 'How are you feeling?' Sherlock was certainly looking bright and alert. The swelling in his eye had gone down, though the black eye that remained was spectacular. His eyes were bright and alert and responding properly now. All in all, John was pleased with his progress, intensive care room or not.

'Mostly I'm just bored,' Sherlock said. 'Let's resolve that by getting to work. Now, what do you make of this?'

He used his good hand to pick up a very small, pale blue cup and saucer from the table that spanned his bed.

John looked. 'I assumed that was what they'd served your morning tea in.'

'You are joking, I assume,' Sherlock said. 'Really, give it your full attention.'

He held it out to John, who was about to take it when Mycroft hissed.

'Do be careful with it,' he said.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John.

He took the cup and saucer and peered at it. He peered at it for a long time.

'What dynasty?' Sherlock asked eventually.

'Er… Ming?'

'Ming?' Sherlock's eyes bulged. 'It's a classic example of Tang!'

'Oh. Right.' John looked sheepishly at Sherlock. 'I can only remember Ming exists at all because of Ming the Merciless in Flash Gordon.'

'What?'

Both of the Holmeses were gaping at him now.

'It's a film,' he said. 'It's like a futuristic, alien thing. With space-football.' He looked at their blank faces. 'And Brian Blessed.'

'Oh God, John!' Sherlock shouted, his hands in the air. 'You've just ruined everything!'

Mycroft stormed across and very, very carefully snatched the cup and saucer from John.

'Well what did you expect?' John asked. 'It takes years and years to reach 'expert' status in anything, and you gave me one night and two other jobs!'

'Did you manage to do them? Or did you think you'd just not bother!'

'I did them!' John shouted. 'Kitty is fine, she's not been in contact with Gruner…'

'You're sure?'

'I'm certain!'

'You didn't give away Sherlock's physical state?' Mycroft asked.

'Oh, yes I did, Mycroft, because I'm _completely stupid._'

'Well not being able to learn any of the important events in Chinese history does suggest that, yes.'

'What about my email?' Sherlock asked.

'Gruner's been in touch to gloat and to tell you he's going to Vancouver until a few days before the wedding.'

'What!' Sherlock sat right up and then paled and winced.

'All right, you're OK,' John said gently, helping him back down. 'I thought it would be good. Give us some time to work with Violet.'

'No, she'll dig in. He'll contact her regularly to keep her mind well poisoned, and the chances are he'll persuade her to join him and they'll have a romantic elopement. He clearly wants to be well out of the way so that we can't start a counter attack.' He frowned at John. 'Though my counter attack has been ruined thanks to your thoughtlessness.'

'Why doesn't Mycroft do what you need? He's clearly an expert!'

They both looked at Mycroft who was lovingly wrapping his teacup in tissue paper.

'I really don't think he's suitable,' Sherlock said. 'For anything really.' He sighed 'Perhaps you could go in as a doctor whose patient just gave a Chinese teacup to him.' He glared at John again. 'Hopefully your acting powers extend far enough to be a medical man.'

'What are you talking about? Send me in where?'

'To Gruner of course. I need you to scope the room and get a decent, inside knowledge of his living room and study. My plan was to send you in as a Chinese antique expert with something to sell.'

John stared. 'That your idea?' He looked from one to the other of them. 'And neither of you spotted the obvious flaw? My face is all over social media! Hell, I was in the Metro yesterday as I rushed to the great Sherlock Holmes's bedside! Was I just going to go in as my identical twin, James Watson, who just happened, coincidentally, to get in touch with him the day after Sherlock Holmes is hospitalised?'

Sherlock and Mycroft had the grace to look slightly shamefaced. Sherlock recovered first.

'I didn't think of that. I didn't realise you were so…'

'Important?' John asked.

'I was going to say interesting,' Sherlock muttered.

'Because that's better,' John said.

Sherlock sighed. 'When's he leaving the country?'

'Tomorrow evening.'

Sherlock groaned and rubbed at his ribs. 'Then you're going to need to go in tonight. I have no idea how though.'

'Oh, that's easy,' John said. 'I'll just go in to have words with him about having you beaten up. Maybe warn him off and threaten to beat him up in return. And then I'll suggest paying him not to marry Violet.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'It'll never work. She'll be worth more to him as a wife, and her father and his friends will already have made the offer.'

'Yes, but we can rely on him assuming I'm so stupid that I wouldn't know that. It's pretty clear that news of amazing brains isn't getting anywhere fast.'

Sherlock gave him an apologetic half smile. 'But your fierce loyalty is well documented. It's possible that he'll admit you just for the pleasure of you trying it.'

'Good. So I'm lugging around two books on Chinese pottery for absolutely nothing then.'

'Sorry,' Sherlock said. 'Clearly I should have discussed the plan with you first.'

'You think?'

'Sorry.'

The three of them looked up as the door opened and Mr and Mrs Holmes came into the room. It was smaller down here in a general ward, and the room felt crowded very quickly. John noted that Sherlock had shrunk back to his pillow and was looking sleepy and weak again. He'd even somehow managed to look slightly paler. He looked up at John and muttered so quietly John had to lean to hear.

'How much would I have to pay you to remove my parents and take them a very long way away?'

John smiled. 'Nope, you're stuck with them for a bit. Penance, I'd say.'

'No sin in the world is worth that. OK, go home and email Gruner.'

'Anything else?'

'No. Spend the day with Scarlet. Get her walking.'

'Will do. See you later.'

Sherlock nestled into his pillows and went to fake sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

It was early evening when John found himself walking along a nice road in Pimlico. The sun was nearly down, and it was still warm enough for him to be passing people going out for the evening in short sleeves and short skirts. There was a pleasant, relaxed atmosphere to London, and he found he wasn't quite ready for the meeting he was about to attend.

He'd emailed Gruner almost immediately after he'd left the hospital with a one sentence request for a meeting, and he'd then gone to have a very lovely picnic with Mary and Scarlet. Scarlet had managed to take three very wobbly steps in the park, and then she'd taken five more which John had managed to get on camera for Sherlock. He'd been almost disappointed when Gruner mailed back with an equally short reply agreeing to meet at eight.

He was slightly early when he trotted up the steps to the large, majestic looking townhouse and rang on the bell. There was no answer though he could see windows open at the front.

He stepped back down onto the pavement and strolled along watching the video of his grinning, toddling daughter a few times. When a churchbell started to chime the hour he went back up the steps and rang the bell for the second time. The door opened before he'd even managed to lower his hand.

'Doctor Watson, I assume?' Gruner said. 'Do come along inside.' He turned and John followed him into the large hallway.

Gruner turned to give him a wide smile. John found that he instantly hated the man, which surprised him. He knew, on an academic level that he hated the man because of who he was and because of the destruction he caused as he blazed through life, but his response to that smile was quite visceral. Gruner's beady little eyes shone brightly, but they didn't seem to have any real humour or warmth behind them. His face was broad and wide and was a perfectly ordinary face, John thought, apart from the frankly ridiculous moustache that perched on his upper lip like a startled centipede. The harsh severity of the smiling lips under it was what made John really recoil though. There was something utterly vile about that harsh, smiling mouth, the one so capable of dropping sweet, honeyed words in front of unsuspecting people. John found he was getting antsy again, and his hands were itching to punch him.

'Please do come through to the living room,' Gruner purred.

John followed him to a room at the back of the house with large windows overlooking the ornamental garden. He was surprised by the vastness of the garden. It ran the back from the house for a full fifty metres and was filled with perfectly manicured shrubs and plants which cast long shadows under the setting sun. He found himself thinking that if he needed to stage a break-in tonight, he'd have to either gain access to the garden that backed onto this one, which might be a little tricky in the middle of the night, or he'd have to scale the all garden fences up to this one. He attempted to plot a few landmarks just in case all the others were similarly laid out.

'Sit down, won't you?' Gruner said, waving him to a chair in front of the wide window.

He sat in it and Gruner sat down opposite him. The room itself was not particularly interesting unless you were a collector of Chinese pottery or perhaps Mycroft. Otherwise it was just a posh room full of vases. John's quick eye did note the hidden doorway behind Gruner though. Just a narrow little seam in the wood panelling in the wall.

Gruner waited patiently for him to absorb everything, and he suddenly remembered Sherlock's words; 'he fears nothing.' John stared right at him, knowing that Gruner understood very well that he had spotted his door. The sickening smile on his face didn't falter.

'How can I help you this evening?' he asked, when John's gaze had settled on him.

John cleared his throat and thought rapidly. For a reason he couldn't quite explain, the thought of threatening Gruner against Sherlock's life seemed pointless and silly now.

'I've come to offer you twenty thousand pounds if you break off your engagement with Miss Violet De Merville.'

'Now why on earth would I take twenty thousand pounds from you when I've already refused thirty thousand from her father?' He smiled again.

'Because Violet De Merville is a young woman with a good future in front of her, and she deserves a hell of a lot better than you.' He held Gruner's eye.

Gruner appeared almost startled, but then he laughed.

'Violet De Merville is a tender young peach,' he said. 'A delicious, juicy, tender young peach, and I'm afraid I haven't eaten my fill yet.'

John pushed his nausea aside.

'What would it take?' he asked. 'I'm here to bargain with you, so what would it take?'

'Money? In exchange for my sweet young bride? Oh, Doctor Watson,' he said quietly, 'I couldn't possibly sell her. I love her, you see?'

There was utter sincerity on his face now, and for a split second, John found himself wondering whether perhaps Gruner was a changed man, and perhaps he would actually take care of the girl. As soon as he realised he was thinking it, he wanted to slap himself.

'No, no,' Gruner said next, 'I love my dear, sweet Violet so much that next week I'll send for her, utterly unable to bear being apart from my beautiful angel, and the week after that I'll have persuaded her to marry me in secret. After all, we can still arrange a big party when we return to England to keep her father happy. I would suggest that she'll be dead by Christmas, but her father's will is tied up with so much nasty legal speak that I'll have to wait at least until he dies.' He gave another broad smile. 'But maybe the wedding will break his heart, so you never know; maybe it will be Christmas after all.'

John sat opposite, his heart racing slightly, knowing that his phone was sitting in his pocket, quietly set to record. He hoped that this little speech would be enough to dissuade Violet at any rate.

There was a horrible moment when he suddenly feared that his triumph had shown outwardly. Gruner's suddenly started up from his seat, with anger all over his face, and John braced himself for attack.

It didn't come though. Gruner stared into the darkening garden.

'There's someone outside!' he hissed. 'I'm being burgled.'

There was the sound of breaking glass, and Gruner started towards the hidden door, opening it via a catch in the corner.

As John chased after him, his only thought was that he'd bloody kill Sherlock.

He was surprised then, to find that the person in the garden wasn't Sherlock at all, but a darkly hooded Kitty Winter. His shock made him stop for just a half second, in which there was the sudden, powerful smell of petrol followed by the spark of a thrown match.

Gruner went up instantly. There was a look of absolute horror on his face as he staggered, still burning towards John. John was vaguely aware of some sort of cry or scuffle outside, as though Kitty had tangled or fallen into some trap, but then Gruner was screaming, and he was already busy stepping forward to deal with the immediate situation.

'Get this off!' John said, pulling at his burning jacket. 'Get through here!'

He pulled him back into the main room where he had space to work, and he quickly wrapped his own jacket around his hand as he beat at the flames.

The screams kept coming, and John could see that one eyeball was by now blinded, and the skin on Gruners face had blistered deeply. His hair was burned away and his scalp bubbling before John got the last of the flames out. He cast his jacket aside to properly assess the damage.

Gruner was finally unconscious, which brought John silence at least. His breath was so far coming perfectly well, but the burns were searing on his face and shoulder and up his arms as he'd instinctively tried to fight the flames away.

There was movement, and he looked up to see Sherlock coming in through the office door dragging a pale and shaking Kitty Winter with him.

'I need carrier bags,' John barked out as soon as Sherlock appeared. 'Plastic bags, and towels soaked in cold water. Now!'

Sherlock darted away.

'Go and help him!' he said to Kitty, but she just wept and shook and slowly slid down the wall.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled for an ambulance, but the service just repeated 'I can't hear you!' at him. He hung up and looked at Kitty.

'Can you call an ambulance?'

She just sat there and sobbed.

'I've called one,' Sherlock said, coming back in with the things that he'd asked for. As John took the bags he registered pain in his own hands and noted that both of them had been burned and were blistered too. He worked quietly, protecting Gruner's remaining frail and fragile skin with the bags before applying the cold towels to try to stop the burn worsening. Sherlock squatted by him, handing him things as he needed them.

'Aren't you tempted to just leave him?' Sherlock asked.

'Yes,' he replied grimly. 'I can't though.' He glanced up to check Sherlock's condition. He was looking distinctly pale and wobbly. 'For the love of Pete, would you please stop escaping from hospitals?'

'I didn't escape; I was discharged. Oh, that reminds me.' He stood and went back into Gruner's office briefly before returning again.

Gruner's eyes opened again, and he emitted a high, squealing moan.

'Please help me!' he wailed. 'Please help me. Why me! Why me! Please help.' He reached his damaged hands up to John.

John's stomach flipped over but he forced himself to stay where he was. He glanced up to where Kitty was pulling at her face in horror.

'Take her somewhere else,' John said to Sherlock. 'And sit down before you fall down. Send the ambulance guys straight in here.'

Sherlock untidily got Kitty to her feet and led her out to the hallway. John looked back to the snivelling, weeping mess in front of him.

'The ambulance is coming,' he said dully.

'It hurts!' Gruner whimpered. 'It burns!'

'Yeah. Get used to it.'

oOo

John joined Sherlock on the pavement outside. There was a police car behind the waiting ambulance, and Kitty was sitting in the back seat, not crying anymore, but looking sullen and vaguely triumphant.

'Do you need to go and have your hands attended to in hospital?' Sherlock asked him.

John glanced at them. They weren't looking good, but he balked at the idea of waiting in A&E for hours tonight. He was suddenly longing for his bed.

'No, Mary can sort me out when I get home.'

'I think you need to go to the hospital.'

'Do you need to go and get checked out because of that massive dizzy spell you had in the house?'

'No, don't be ridiculous.'

'Well then.'

John looked at Kitty's defiant face looking out of the police car window, and he sighed.

'Even if you couldn't have told me plan where you were going to break in tonight, you could have told me about your truly stupid idea of bringing Kitty along.'

'I didn't bring Kitty along!' Sherlock frowned at her. 'I had no idea she was here until she backed into me as she was trying to get away. We both fell, and then I realised what she'd done and pulled her into the house with me. Maybe I should have let her go.'

'It wouldn't make any difference. Gruner saw her, and he'll bring charges of course.'

'I've contacted Lestrade to ease her way through the system.'

'Yeah, he loves it when you do that.' John went to rub his face and winced in pain.

'I still think I should take you to the hospital.'

'No, if we've finished here, let's go home.'

They walked along the pavement at a slow saunter, as if extending the courtesy of letting any interested police call them back, and then moved up to their usual pace as they got out of earshot.

'My hands are really hurting,' John said.

'My forehead is throbbing and my ribs are sore.'

'Yeah. Let's go home.'

'Fine with me. Taxi!'


	9. Chapter 9

The following morning saw Sherlock sitting on the floor of the Watsons' living room. He and Scarlet had pulled the throw from the sofa, and were alternatively using it as a giant tent with Sherlock acting as a tentpole, and simply hiding beneath it before pulling it away with a 'boo!' To be fair, Scarlet was mostly laughing and waiving the blanket up and down, but they both felt that she was participating both fully and brilliantly. John was sitting on the armchair, his hands heavily bandaged, smiling as he watched them.

'Oh, John,' Sherlock said during a pause when Scarlet had chosen to crawl over the blanket to Sherlock's arms. 'She really is the most perfect child! I don't understand how you of all people produced a creature as brilliant as this!' He wrapped his arms around her and was rewarded by a sloppy, uncoordinated attempt at a kiss.

'He had help,' Mary said, coming in with mugs of tea. 'Do you want a straw in yours?' she asked John.

'I'm sure I can manage,' he said.

'How are your hands?' Sherlock asked.

'Bit sore.' He held them up and regarded the huge amount of white padding. 'I'm not totally sure how I'm going to wash my hands between patients tomorrow, so that's going to be interesting.'

'We'll get you some giant latex gloves,' Mary said.

'How long will the bandages stay on?' Sherlock asked.

'I'll need them re-wrapping daily for a week.'

'Oh no. No dawn swimming.'

John looked at Sherlock, not sure if this was sincere or sarcasm.

'How are your ribs?' He asked. 'I'm not sure you should be cannonballing into the water this week anyway.'

'OK I think. I admit I probably shouldn't have pulled a nineteen year old through a window last night.'

'I'm worried about her,' John said quietly.

'Yes. Lestrade's taking care of her for now, and Mycroft has said he'll channel her to one of De Merville's friends and strongly suggest a suspended sentence. It's probably the best we can do given that she went after him after months of silence. Hopefully young Violet will be put off Gruner given he's lost his looks overnight.'

'I wouldn't count on it,' Mary said. 'It depends on how shallow she is and how deeply he poisoned her mind. It's just as likely it'll add to the poor wounded hero image that he's put in her head.'

'Mm,' John said glumly. Then he sat up. 'Oh, but I forgot with all the drama!' He got up to fetch his phone from the table, and then found he could barely carry it, and certainly couldn't manage the buttons. He triumphantly gave it to Sherlock. 'Gruner admitted his intention to murder Violet last night, and I got it recorded on that.'

'Lovely idea,' Sherlock said, smiling grimly. 'But I suspect…' he found last night's recording and pressed play. The phone gave out a high-pitched whistling, buzzing sound. 'Yes,' Sherlock said quietly. 'I suspected he had some sort of interference device when you couldn't call an ambulance. Given the sweet lies he's whispered in that room, he'd never have left himself open for recording. It's a shame. I'd rather not show Violet the photographs. I went over some of them with Lestrade last night, largely to see if any showed a crime in progress, and they weren't pleasant.'

'You got the photos?'

'I got three memory sticks with photographs, documents, and there was enough on there for Lestrade to seize both of his computers along with his phone.'

'Oo, a prison sentence might put paid to her desire,' John said.

'Send the pictures to her father,' Mary said. 'Let him talk to her as sensitively as he can. Poor kid. She's going to need a shoulder to cry on, and she seems less separated from her father than she is from the rest of the world.'

'That's probably the best idea,' John agreed.

'Oh,' Sherlock groaned, 'talking of Mycroft, I mentioned to him your salary plan…'

'It wasn't a plan,' John said. 'Just a thought.'

'Well he thought it was a brilliant thought. Overnight, he's registered me as a small business and moved all my income to a new business account. He's arranged a transfer of a monthly salary to cover my living costs.'

John guffawed loudly at the sight of his hurt face.

'It's not funny! I told him that I'd need to at least match your current salary, and at the same time I told him about the equal partners plan, and he's twisted this to pretend I meant I wanted to be paid the same salary as you. You earn a ridiculously small amount of money.'

'I'm a senior doctor in a practise.'

'Even so.' Sherlock wrinkled his nose at Scarlet. 'At least you'll never have an infuriating and interfering older brother.'

'Maybe she'll be an interfering and infuriating older sister,' John said.

'Really?' Sherlock said, his head popping up.

'No. God no. Not in a million years,' Mary said. 'Don't get me wrong – I adore her – but I don't want another one.'

Sherlock nodded, relieved. 'It's true; you'd never be able to manage another one as good as this.'

John laughed. 'Maybe. Anyhow, we both think that our family is just as we want it, just the way it is. I've seen the way siblings can behave, and I'm not eager to replicate it in my home.'

'What about work?' Sherlock asked. 'Will you leave the surgery and work me?'

'Well…' John started.

'Yes!' Sherlock said, waving Scarlet's arms. 'Daddy's going to work for me again!'

'Work _with_ you!' John said. 'And I haven't actually agreed yet. I'll need to wait until I can type a resignation letter.' He waved his bandaged hands at Sherlock.

'I'll type one for you,' Mary said. 'I'll type it now. Or I'll use one of the ones I've typed for you when I've been bored at home while you've been bored at work.'

'It means that much to you?' he asked quietly.

'It really, really does. Everything about you is happier and better when you're with him.'

Sherlock beamed.

'Yeah, all right,' John said. 'OK then. Stay for lunch and we'll make plans.'


End file.
